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Ella Wheeler Wilcox - The Tryst
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There`s many a house of grandeur,
With turret, tower and dome,
That knows not peace or comfort,
And does not prove a home.
I do not ask for splendor
To crown my daily lot,
But this I ask—a kitchen
Where the kettle`s always hot.


If things are not all ship-shape,
I do not fume or fret,
A little clean disorder
Does not my nerves upset.
But one thing is essential,
Or seems so to my thought,
And that`s a tidy kitchen
Where the kettle`s always hot.


In my Aunt Hattie`s household,
Though skies outside are drear,
Though times are dark and troubled,
You`ll always find good cheer.
And in her quaint old kitchen—
The very homiest spot—
The kettle`s always singing,
The water`s always hot.


And if you have a headache,
Whate`er the hour may be,
There is no tedious waiting
To get your cup of tea.
I don`t know how she does it—
Some magic she has caught—
For the kitchen`s cool in summer,
Yet the kettle`s always hot.


Oh, there`s naught else so dreary
In household kingdom found
As a cold and sullen kettle
That does not make a sound.
And I think that love is lacking
In the hearts in such a spot,
Or the kettle would be singing
And the water would be hot.
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